"Again", a wife watching story.
By tonytony3
(Archived by Don Jetman)

It was scary.

Erotic, but scary.

Exciting, but scary.

Matthew "Matt to my friends, call me that," was a smooth dancer. Dancing was easy, in the arms of a good dancer it's always easy. Easy following his lead, easy making your moves conform to his.

Easy being enveloped in his arms, held tightly, feeling his arm around my back, holding me tightly, guiding me.

He held me, pressed against me, I could feel pressure along his body, my breasts pressing against his chest, him, warm, pressing against my groin. I couldn't be surprised, I had invited it, that pressure, returning his with my own, one of my legs between his, one of his, between mine, a mutual invasion, an intimicy in public.

It was a sexy, slow dance, our feet moved hardly at all, our bodies only a little, inspired by the music's rythym. His head lowered a little, I could feel his lips, at least his lips, maybe more than that, at my ear.

Pete was still looking at me, looking at us, wrapped in each other's arms. I watched him sitting at the bar, looking out over the floor, I watched my husband watch a man being increasingly bold with me.

I stood a bit taller so I could, with eyes wide open, reach Matt's ear, too, and excite him a little more, excite him while Pete watched me do that, so that Pete would be excited, too. The plan was that Pete me excite another man.

That's what Pete wanted to see. That's not exactly right, that's only the start of what Pete wanted to see.

Pete asked me to do this, Pete, who wanted us to "expand our sexual horizons", who wanted me to "cooperate", to let him be a voyeur.

Aren't the subjects of a voyeur's attentions to be unknowing? Or is that a Peeking Tom? Or is it in mostly in the mind of the voyeur, the Peeking Tom, the Peeking Pete?

It didn't matter.

We were here, Pete and I, on vacation, and I was acting like I was here alone, acting available, no, not acting available, being available, acting newly seperated.

"Would it be premature to ask 'Your place, or mine?'", Matt whispered, holding me tighter still, pressing against me, pressing against my own pressure.

Is that the way it is these days? Meet someone in a lounge, dance with them for a couple of hours, and the presumption was that the night would end in sex?

The stories we read on the internet made me think so. Some stories, some forums, only have their subject wife watching and wife sharing, and Pete and I thought those stories were pretty exciting.

Exciting enough so that for a while we pretended we were doing it, and finally, pretending wasn't enough.

We were here, this St. Patrick's Day, here in Savannah, intending to live out a fantisy.

We were going to try wife watching if we could the right man, the right opportunity.

And, we may have. "Matt, I'm uncomfortable, no, I'd be really frightened to go with you . . ." -- I could feel his disappointment -- "to your room." I paused, enjoying the power, the teasing. "Would you mind if we went to" --I nearly said "Ours!" -- "to mine, for a while?"

"I can deal very nicely with that, Marsha, I'd love to go to your room, with you. That doesn't frighten me."

"For a while," I reminded him.

"Yes, for a while," he confirmed, holding me a little tighter, a little closer, "now?"

"Soon," I told him, "I'm nearly ready, would after this dance be soon enough?"

"I can wait that long," he said, pressing himself against me, his intentions and his erection both obvious.

"Yes. Wait," I assured him, "I hope it'll be worthwhile."

The music stopped. Matt, holding my hand, led me to the table we'd been using as a base, as a place to hold glasses, as 'our place', for the past two hours, and signaled for a check. The barman was at our table in an instant.

Pete saw the action, could read the meaning into it, and I watched him scribble a signiture on his tab and leave the room. He was off, to take his position for the next chapter in his voyeurism saga, to watch me take part in the next chapter of "Marsha the newly single woman, of the experimenting kind."


. "I want to finish my drink, cocktails help me feel comfortable in unusual cuircumstances," I told him. Well, that was true, but I really wanted to give Pete a couple of minutes to get ready.

In two minutes I was in the elevator with Matt. "What floor?" he asked, and I pressed 15.

"Oh, that's the same as mine!"

I got our room's door open.

I was so new at this, so nieve.

Matt turned to the door and set the night latch. "No one's going to be coming in," I told him, "I saw you put the 'Do not disturb' sign out."

"No one, Marsha dear, is going to go out, either, not for a while!"

I adjusted the room lights, leaving the room, well, light enough for my husband, and dark enough for me.

"Your room's as nice as mine," Matt said, looking at the king bed, at all of the luggage. We had only unpacked some of my things, Pete's were still in his suitcase, his stuff, and he, were both out of sight.

The drapes to the balcony were mostly closed, a corner was artfully caught on a chair, leaving a small gap of window *******. The dark night gave no hint of what was out there, gave no hint that Pete was there, lurking, watching, getting, he hoped, one of his fanticies fulfilled.

I turned the tv on, it added light, and the hotel information channel had backgorund music playing, very dancable music.

"More dancing? We could have done that downstairs. I'm not here for dancing."

Instead, he took me into his arms. His head moved towards mine, and mine towards him, until lips met, opened, tongues touched.

I pulled away, the feeling was that erotic, that shocking.

"You don't like kissing me?"

"Yes, I do, it's just that. . ."

"Yes, you told me, I'm the first man other than your husband who's touched you, or I guess kissed you, in a long time."


"But you're seperated from him, you're here alone."

"Ah, yes. . ."

"So get back over here!"

I did, I moved closer to him again, and again lips met, this time mine were as willing as his.

My mind is still full of the sensation of the pressure of his lips, of tongues touching, of him pulling me to him tightly, of his erection pressing against me.

"Have fun with him, be open, be free,", Pete pleaded a couple of hours ago. "If you find someone you like, have a good time with him."I would do that, that was my plan.

"That's nice," Matt said, pausing, lips parted but bodies close.

"Yes, nice," I said, just a little breathless.

"I'm new at this," I told him again.

"It's easy, I'll show you."

He held me close to him with one arm, and the other found my wrist at his waist.

"First, let me show you something," he said, holding my wrist, and moving it and my hand from his waist, up to his chest.

To his lips.

He kissed my fingers.

He was looking at me, watching me very carefully, as he guided my hand lower, under his suit coat, down, until it was on his belt buckle.

And lower still, how warm it was, and lower, until I could feel him, it, warm, hard, long.

His fingers closed over mine, so I could trace its length along his leg, find its end, his fingers over mine closed mine over its head, stroking it.

He watched me carefully, as my hand traced along its shaft.

"Can you tell I'm excited, that I'm ready for you?"

I nodded. "Yes, excited, ready, I can tell."

He put his hands on my shoulders, and pushed me until I was arm's length from him.

"There's no graceful way to do this," he told me, as he shrugged off his suit coat, and put it on the dresser.

He began pulling at his tie, and stopped, looking at me.

"You too, this is the next part, you have to getmundressed."

"I'll go in the bathroom," I started to tell him, but he shook his head no. "Do it here. There's nothing to hide now, nothing I won't be seeing and tasting and pleasuring in a couple of minutes. Do it here."

His tie was off, he was working on his shirt buttons.

Why fool myself? I was here for this. I wanted to enjoy every moment.

I took his hand in mine, turned my back to him, drew him close. I on purpose faced the balcony.

Matt understood what I wanted, both his arms were around me, under mine, tracing up and down my body, throat, over my breasts, to my groin, while he nibbled at my neck.

"Sexy lady!"

"Yes, I hope so, I hope I'm sexy."



I knew Pete would be thinking the same thing.

I reached behind my neck, and moved my hair to the side.

"My dress has a clasp at the neck, Matt, would you get it?"

It took him only a minute to get it undone.

"Zipper, too?" he asked, and not waiting for an answer, lowered it as it would go.

That's a very sensual feeling, when you feel the tension in a dress relax as it opens.

The dress's tension across me may have relaxed, but I didn't!

Matt's hands went around me at my waist, and released the dress's belt. Now the garment just hung from my shoulders, loose, soft.

His hands moved to my hips, a little lower, and I felt him lift my dress, felt it slide over my slip, felt him change his grip so he was holding its lower hem, and lift higher, until the hem was to my breasts, the dress partly inside out, draping over me.

"Lift your arms, darling," he said, and I did, and my vision of the gap in the curtain where my husband was was blocked, as the dress went over my face, and stayed blocked until the dress's neckline lifted over my head, and now I could see the gap again, this time not wearing a dress.

"Nice," he said, turning me around, looking at me, "pretty slip, pretty lady."

He looked, and while looking, pulled at his shirt, until it was unbuttoned, and off.

No undershirt was there, just a man's chest.

"You're reluctant, I'll go first," he told me.

He lifted one leg, pulled off a shoe, a sock, and repeated that with the other leg.

I couldn't help staring at him, watching him. He just kept looking at me, as his hands went to his belt, and released it.

He kept looking at me as he unbuttoned the waistband of his slacks.

"I hope you're ready for this," he said, and as I nodded yes he gripped his pants and shorts at his hips, and pushed down, ******** his cock, his erect cock.

And kept looking as he lifted a leg to release his pants from that foot, and the other leg, so he was naked.

"You're not surprised, are you," he asked, looking at me while I stared at him, standing there, so confident, so assured, "that I'm aroused, that I have an erection? After all, you caused it."

So sexy.

"Now you, your clothes."

He bent his knees, and reached toward the lower hem of my slip.

He stood, lifting it, taking it off as it turned inside out.

"Lift your hands, darling, like before."

I did, and again the world vanished, only diffused light through the dark material was visible, and then, I could see him again, and the slip was off, and tossed onto a pile of clothing.

"Am I really the first, since your husband, to do this to you?"

I nodded.

"Good, it's almost like you're a virgen."

"Now, the bra."

"It fastens in back."

"So turn around, I'll get it. I don't want to be the only one naked in this room!"

I did turn my back to him.

He didn't start by reaching for the bra, his arms were on my belly, and then up, and over my breasts. I'm sure Pete was watching every move, as Matt's arms traced along the top of my breasts, then followed the bra straps back.

There was a moment's increased tension as his fingers grasped the clasp, then a complete loss of tension, as it was opened..

It's such an odd feeling, that of a bra being opened like that by a stranger, of it being held up by my breasts instead of supporting them.

"Arms forward now," he commanded, and I obeyed.

I distracted myself by trying to see Pete through the gap in the drapery. Matt had no distractions. He pushed at the shoulder straps, ******** me. A shrug, my shrug, and the bra slid from my arms to my hands, where I caught it, and placed it with the other clothes on the floor.

And his arms, on my shoulders, moved down, under my arms, and around, until his hands were over my breasts, cupping them, weighing them, playing with them, to my nipples, their projection a physical manifistation of my arousal..

"The first man since your husband to do this?" he asked, moving so close I could feel his penis pushing at my buttocks.

"Yes, the first," I assured him, it seemed to be important to him."That's so good," he said, as his hands left my breasts --I didn't want them to, that was erotic -- and moved down to my hips.

His fingers slid under the elastic waistband of my pantihose, and continued to push down on my skin, carrying the hose with them.

Do you remember, lady readers, the feeling of having a new lover do that, of that material moving over your belly, downwards, over the butticks, downward, and that moment when the band is tracing down the front of your thighs, leaving all above it nude.

Delicious, isn't it?

"Turn around, sit."

I did, and he knelt at my feet, and pulled. I lifted my feet, extended my toes, and watched the hose move from calf,

to ankle,

to feet,

to off.

Now there were two nude people in the room.

"I want to take my time with you," he told me, pulling at the bed cover.

I stood, close to the drapes, and helped, and then the bed was uncovered, ready, too.

He reached for me, and I remembered Pete outside, and wanted him to see, so I lay down, my feet toward the drapes, with Matt behind me.

He knee walked on the bed until he was beside me, his knees at my hips.

And bet over, twisting, so we could kiss again.

The kiss, I knew, was a preamble to sex, sex outside marriage, sex with a stranger, sex I wanted.

He moved, and was no longer kissing my lips, but my ear. I turned my head, making it easier for him.

The sensation was thrilling, but he moved, too soon, and his mouth found my breast, his teeth teased at it.

More exteccy. But he moved again, was kissing my belly.

"Your hands, give me your hands," he said between kisses and licks, each moving lower.

I caputred his face between my hands, but that wasn't what he wanted.

No, he wanted something quite different than that.

He directed my hands lower, positioning them on either side of my vulva.

I felt his breath on my hands, he had moved that much lower, and I was hoping Pete could see.

His hands were over mine now, suggesting motion.

"Spread yourself, make it easy for me."

Spread myself??? Like a common slut???

But I did, I did spread myself, legs apart, vulva lips apart, spread so that my husband would see, could see, deep into me.

Spread so that Matt could see, too, and

Oh God,

taste me,

probe there with his tongue,

I could feel his face against my hands,

his breath.

And oh, his tongue, touching, teasing.

I rotated my hips up, towards him, holding myself as open as I could, my forefingers moving there too, opening me wide, and oh, his tongue, what his tongue was doing to me, to my clit..

Oh Pete, why haven't you ever gone down on me like this, like Matt is?

Maybe he'd learn, I knew he was watching, I could feel him watching.

I felt an involuntary contraction begin - an orgasm!

An orgasm by mouth!

That doesn't often happen for me!


"Huh? What, Matt? What did you say?"


"I don't understand."

He lifted up, and turned to face me.

And moved, still facing me, so that his knees were on either side of my waist, his penis touching my belly.

And he moved, leaning over me, his cock tracing up, between my breasts.I took it in my hands, pressed it onto a nipple, feeling its heat, its smoothness.

Matt moved again. "Return the pleasure, Marsha, take me in your mouth, too."

He was kneeling high, Ihis penis pointing down, I was sure Pete, looking in could see it, could see it at my neck, and then against my cheek.

Matt lifted higher, his scrotum hanging down, his penis at my lips.

"Take me, Marsha!"

And I did, holding him with both hands, not allowing him in too far, I couldn't deal with that, didn't know how to, but I could kiss,

and lick,

and suck,

and I did all of that.

I did it until he said, "enough!" and pulled away, his cock throbbing, ready to eject its fluid.

"I need a minute," he said, laying on his back, his penis erect, he was holding it, trying to prevent it from spilling over, trying to hold back, so it -- he -- could be emptied in me.

"My husband used to like me to do this," I told him, deciding not to give him the time out he wanted.

I straddled him, my feet beside his hips, my arms supporting myself at his shoulders, my own vulva above his cock.

I brushed it once, and again. I knew I was wet, lubercated, dilated.

"Will you help?" I asked, pushing down again, and he did, he steered himself so that I could feel that blunt pressure exactly where it belonged, and I squatted even lower, increasing that pressure, going down harder, until that magic moment happened, and his cockhead seperated my lips, and the pressure stopped, and a feeling of spreading began,

and increased,

until I was fully on his pelvis, he was fully in me.

"Good, that's good," he said, and I began the movements that Pete loved so much, up and down, back a few inches and forward again, and Matt when I'd lift up would thrust his hips higher, pushing into me, and I'd lower myself, forcing his hips back to the bed, and his cock deeper into me.

"Good, it is good," I told him, I was covered with a sheen of persperation, and he was, too, and I could feel him get even bigger, if that was possible, and it was possible, he was getting bigger, and pushing harder, thrusting to his own rythems, he was ejacqulating in me.

The moment was too exciting, I couldn't hold myself over him like that, I got my legs extended along his, our bodies were together, his hips were making small movements, moving his softening cock in me, and I knew, or thought I knew, that Pete was looking between my spread legs, and that cock's movement, seeing what he wanted to see, making it all the more exciting for me.

"Done. I'm done."

Matt was pushing at me, wanting me to move off him.

I did, I rolled off so we were beside each other.

He rolled on his side, his flacid, wet cock, still pulsing a littlem extending toward his hip. He reached between my legs, his fingers began moving in me, continuing wht his tongue and mouth and cock had been doing.

It took only a minute of that until he felt me go rigid, then relax, in a second orgasm. It was a long time ago that I had two in one love making session. But this wasn't making love, was it, it was fucking.

"Taste us."

I must have had my eyes closed, I knew Matt wasn't touching me.

I looked at him, to see his fingers over my lips.

"Taste us. Taste sex, taste our sex.!"

His fingers were at my lips, then in my mouth.

I never tasted my juices before, my juices mixed with him, with his.

I did, it was a last bit of eroticism.

"If we wait an hour, I can do all of that again, if you'd like," he said.

"Or, have you had enough?"


It's one thing, having an encounter with an attractive man, a "zipless fuck". It's another to have him next to you, sweaty and spent.

"I had enough, Matt."

He sat up. "You honored, me, Marsha, by letting me be the first man since leaving your husband. You're really nice, and great in bed. Thanks. I'm sorry I'm leaving here today, I'd like to spend more time with you."

"You're nice, too, Matt. Thanks."

"You said I could stay for a while. I guess awhile's up, huh?"

"Yeah, Matt, I need some time in here without you right now."

"I understand that," he said. Like hell he did, I had a husband waiting on the balcony, I don't think he understood at all."

He rested a few minutes, then got up, pulled on pants, drapped a shirt over himself, and gathered the rest of his clothing. "I'm only down the hall, I don't care if someone sees me like this, they'll know what happened, and I don't care. I hope someone does see, they'd be jelious!"

He looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. "You know, the band will be playing for a couple more hours. If I wasn't so used up I'd ask you to go back downstairs for awhile."

"It's a nice thought, but no thank you, Ted."

With that, he left, and the door didn't click closed before the balcony door opened, and Pete came in, most of his clothes in his arms..

"I beat off out there three times watching you two fuck!' was his first words.

It took him a second to get in bed with me.

But nothing happened.

"I don't have anything left."

"Are you mad, or just exhausted?" I asked him.

"I can't be mad, I wanted you to do that. I guess, just exhausted."

He paused. "You looked like you were having a good time."

"It was different, Pete, he's a different man. It was fun, it was exciting, doing that while you were watching. Did you like it, too?"

"I'll tell you the truth. For a while it was great, but then, after a while, Marsha, I didn't like it at all. You're MY wife! But in the end, while I was watching you and him, I really, really, liked it, I liked how sexy you looked, and how excited you made him. It was great.""Good, I'm glad."

"Yeah, I did. We did it, that's good. I liked the number of guys that you talked to downstairs, too. You picked a good one, though."

"Yeah, flirting was fun. It was fun to do. Maybe we'll do it again sometime."

"OK," he said, "maybe."

I rolled toward him, are were in each other's arms, sleep was coming.

As his eyes fluttered closed, I whispered "I'll do it any time you like, Pete, any time at all."

His breathing smoothed out.

"Any time at all, honey," I whispered.

"Maybe even later this week."

His breathing was regular.

"Maybe, even," I was enjoying this, "maybe even with one of those big black guys, the ones who looked like football players, the one who danced with me before Matt did."He took another breath, sound asleep.

"I think I'd like that," I continued, enjoying this game.

His eyes opened. He wasn't asleep.

He sat up. "Good. I'd like that too. They're probably still downstairs. Let's clean up the room, and do it again!"
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